Surviving 3Chapter 27 Peace
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We Come In Peace free porn video
Hello! So, this one is, uh, a bit different. I’ve recently gotten into reading sci-fi romance, the kind that heavily features alien males with an appetite for human females. I’ve also recently gotten into a certain tumblr that’s all about cute boys being buggered by tentacles... as you do. And my appreciation for middle-aged dudes looking sharp in suits has always been there, really. If you now combine all three things – aliens, buggering, and fine Italian men’s fashion – you get… the following, weird story. Fair warning: There’s a long wind-up again. Apparently, I need a thorough set-up that leads to the sexy bits. Enjoy, if that is your type of thing! (P.S: Please, forgive me that punny title. I formally apologize to all Star Trek fans.)
Tags: sci-fi, gay, three-piece suit, aliens, gang bang, anal, oral, urethra insertion, tentacles, orgasm denial, cock cage, body transformation
We Come In Peace
“Senator Graham! Senator Graham, I’m Mary Collins for USDA News. Would you comment on your new appointment to the MIG9? Has there been an official Syn response already?”
I only smiled at Miss Collins and gave a nod at the cameras, thanked everyone for their interest, and slipped into the backseat of my car. The door slid shut almost soundlessly once I was seated, cutting off the noisy reporters and the whirr of the camera equipment. The seat molded perfectly to my thighs, backside and back, and security belts gently clamped down on me. I laid my head against the headrest, breathed in the new-vehicle-smell and enjoyed the comfort of the supple leather, and breathed out the stress
“Good afternoon, Mr Graham,” Gina’s mellow voice filled the car’s interior. “Would you like me to drive you somewhere? Or are you just enjoying the privacy and comfort of this vehicle today?”
“Take me home first, and then on to Washington D.C. spaceport, please and thank you, Gina,” I said. I didn’t care that my contemporaries laughed at me and compared me to their great-grandparents who typed ‘would you please find me some raspberry pie recipies my dear?’ into the google search bar. I would always be polite to AIs. Politeness should never be switched off, no matter the addressee.
“With pleasure, Mr Graham.” Gina – whose full name was Jiqi Zhineng (literally meaning “artificial intelligence”) which started with a “gi”-sound and ended roughly on a “na”-sound – started the car and reversed because there were still too many reporters in front of us. “The fastest route will take us twenty-three minutes under the current traffic conditions. Or would you prefer an alternative route today?”
“No, thank you. Twenty-three minutes is perfectly fine. Take me there directly.”
“Very well. Would you like to make use of the entertainment system to pass the time?”
I thought for a second. “We can continue our game of chess, if you like?”
“Of course!” Gina slid one robotic arm out of the door pocket. A semi-holographic chessboard with black and white pieces s**ttered on it flickered into view. “Your move, Mr Graham.”
We played for a bit. Gina was programmed to keep small talk to a very natural minimum, but she still spoke up while she calculated her next moves. “By the way, congratulations to your appointment to the Convocation, Mr Graham.”
“Thank you, Gina,” I said and inhaled deeply. “It was a close call. President Simmons is not my fan, or a fan of the Syn, or a fan of anything that resembles diplomacy.”
“You have worked very hard for this, and you deserve it,” Gina said. Her praise felt really good, which was slightly embarrassing. Man, I was a social-life loner. “The following trip to the Washington spaceport will be your departure for MIG9, then?”
“Correct,” I nodded. “I’m going home to pack my bags, and then I’m going to go up there.”
“Very well,” Gina replied and finally made her move.
‘Up there’ was MIG9, the space station the Syn had used to make contact with Earth roughly ten years ago. Since then, we had sent our own modules to dock onto the station, first to send goods and mediums for better communication, then to send scientists and technicians.
Now, we would send… me, James Graham, 35, from Baltimore, Maryland. I had just been voted to become the first official member of the interstellar senate that convened at the station MIG9. In only four days, I would be joining the Convocation of the Nine – which would have to be renamed into the Convocation of Ten if they accepted me – and represent the interests of homo sapiens against and alongside of those of the Syn.
I didn’t know what was coming, not really. I had only ever seen the extraterrestrials on television and read about them in the aforementioned scientist’s academic papers. I had, of course, studied everything on interstellar politics that we and the Syn had compiled in the meantime, but there was just not a lot of it to be read yet.
“’Very well’, indeed,” I mumbled and tried not to think too much about how I was diving headfirst into a black hole just to see what would happen.
At the spaceport, there was some preparation to be made, I got a very short crash course on space travel safety, my luggage was managed, and then I was shot into the atmosphere. The journey itself took 15 hours, which I snoozed away under the influence of some sedating chemical in the capsule’s air supply, and ended with a gentle hiss of my air lock.
My capsule had docked onto the MIG9.
After that, my life took a real turn.
***
“Representatives of the tribes, welcome.”
The voice of the Syn’s speaker carried through the fibrous curtain that shielded me from view of the auditorium. The aliens – I wasn’t supposed to think of them as such, being politically correct, but that’s what they were to me – had a circus-like set-up of their senate, with eight listeners standing or sitting in a circle around a relatively large open space that functioned as a stage and was the only spot in which anyone was allowed to say more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or direct short questions at the speaker. That’s what my babysitter had taught me yesterday.
My babysitter was a young Syn – or at least she seemed and looked very young with her smooth-skinned kindchenschema face – who had not given me a name to address her by. I wasn’t even sure she was female.
She had answered most all of my questions, provided me with food and a chamber with an en-suite washing cubicle, and, with a slightly nervous hush that I didn’t understand, told me to “please refrain from shedding the carapace in the vicinity of the senate”. The translation of her words from my earpiece had confused me so much that I didn’t think to ask what she meant by that.
As I stood and listened to the alien noises that presumably constituted thank-yous, welcomes and other acknowledgements, I fumbled with my tie and straightened my jacket again. My carapace, indeed. I was wearing my dark gray pinstripe suit, which flattered my swimmer’s body tastefully and yet exuded professionalism. When you went to meet a couple of aliens, you damn well put on your Sunday best.
“At this hour, we will admit to this convocation a new representative. James Graham comes from planet Earth and will hold as much authority as either of us over decisions relating to the species homo sapiens or the planet Earth. Please enter, James Graham.”
Trying not to feel like a criminal coming before a jury, I stepped through the curtain and out into the round space.
Immediately, I saw the advantage of this set-up. Whosever stood in the middle might have been the only one with the right to speak, but he was also on a silver platter and scrutinized from all directions.
Looking around me, I stupidly wished for a stool to stand on. Even the smallest one of my onlookers was head and shoulders above me even though I was a good 6 foot 3.
The aliens looked like something out of all Guillermo del Toro movies, but also different, each one very distinct and unique. For the most part, they had two front-facing eyes – and that was where the similarities ended.
“Senators, I am honored to stand among you and want to thank each of you for the invitation,” I addressed them in turn, dropping most of the faux-friendly rhetoric I had learnt in American politics in favor of straight-forward honesty. For some reason I thought they might be able to smell lies anyway and didn’t have time or patience for hollow pleasantries. “The world, that is, my people, have appointed me as an intermediary between you and them. I am prepared to serve as such and leave it at that. With your permission, I can also weigh in on human-related subjects in the future. Thank you.”
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you, James Graham,” one of the aliens to my right spoke up, and I turned to him. He reminded me of a stereotypical alien of early sci-fi, with his shimmery gray skin and large, black eyes that had neither pupils nor irises. He had two large arms that ended in hands with uneven numbers of fingers, two legs that seemed to bend into the other direction, a rippling torso that had no hair or nipples, and a very large, curved-
Oh. I lifted my gaze up and away. Was that his default state or was he just happy to see me? I suppressed a nervous chuckle and cleared my throat instead.
“James Graham, tell us. What is your knowledge of the Syn?”
I turned to the other senator who had posed the question – a slightly shorter one in a richly colored robe that seemed to be made of the same material as the curtain I had previously lingered behind, with three blue eyes whose eyelids blinked independently from one another – and launched into a short, prepared summary. In all, I had to concede, humans knew only the basics about our visitors, their lives, their home, their societal structures, their customs and practice. The Syn weren’t exactly forward with information, preferring instead to hover above our little blue planet and, presumably, watch us.
During the talk, I gestured a little and ended up opening the one button that held my jacket closed to increase my freedom of movement. Also, it was a little too warm in here for all three layers I was wearing.
“James Graham,” yet another alien addressed me once I was done with my meager lecture, “there are species of fish in your planet’s oceans that are curiously similar to the Syn, in that they are born in the life-keeping state and, as they age, undergo a transformation to the life-giving state.”
Blinking, I tapped the translator device behind my ear. “I am afraid I don’t understand.” Neither the translation nor the mention of it made much sense within the context of my Syn-101 lecture.
“There is no need to be afraid, James Graham,” the fourth Syn to address me said. He looked a lot like the amphibian man from ‘The Shape of Water’, except with more… frills.
“Uh, but-“ I trailed off. I could feel the mood in the room change, but I didn’t know why it was happening.
“Will your species send more life-keepers to the Syn?” the first speaker asked me.
“That largely, uh, depends on the outcome of my tenure,” I said, deciding to ignore the whole life-keeper/life-giver thing for now. “If my people – and you – are satisfied with the gains of information and transparency that my being here brings, we can absolutely negotiate for more frequent exchanges.”
All nine listeners suddenly started hissing and humming, as if I had either said something horribly offensive, or something wonderful, I couldn’t tell.
“The Syn strongly advocate the presence of more life-keepers,” another Syn said, and the humming slowly ebbed.
Alright, enough.
“Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly, is a life-keeper?” I addressed the entire audience, hoping I wasn’t committing an affront by reversing the speaking roles while standing in the circle, and grimly determined to not feel ashamed for my ignorance.
“Like the fish in your planet’s waters, we have two phases in life,” the gray-skinned Syn said. I really tried not to notice how his, uh, horn twitched, but it was quite conspicuous. Large. Curved. Ribbed. “One in which the seed is given to us for safekeeping and incubation, and one in which we give it.”
“All of the Syn present are in the latter phase of our lives,” frilly amphibious man added.
“Wait,” I mumbled. Incubation. This sounded like it had something to do with sex. “You… You mean your species undergoes a sex change? From… female to male?”
“Those are rudimentary terms that do not sufficiently describe the reality of our biology,” a Syn behind me said and I couldn’t help but whirl around. He had the deepest voice I had ever heard. It made my belly tingle like a very loud sub-woofer bass and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“I see,” I said, even though I only vaguely understood. “So… Pardon my asking, but why is it important that…”
I fell silent. The deep-voiced Syn’s body was changing before my eyes, morphing, like a clay animation figurine, into something that strongly resembled a human male. A very, very cut, very large and naked human male.
With a proportionally huge cock.
Which was quickly becoming erect.
“James Graham. We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” one of the other Syn said, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the transformation before me. The room was suddenly ten degrees warmer and thirty percent more humid than before. Something electric sizzled between me and the deep-voiced, well-endowed, aroused alien.
“Wait, wait now. There seems to be a misunderstanding,” I started and fumbled with the knot of my tie again which seemed too tight suddenly.
The Syn all hummed and hissed again.
“This appointment of mine is exclusively a political one. There was never, uh- No one ever said anything about… corporeal involvement.” My voice was rising as my imagination ran wild.
The silvery Syn stepped off his little platform and into the ring. All the other Syn followed as if on cue.
“The differentiation between political and corporeal is non-existent for the Syn,” one of them informed me. “The body is the birthplace of all thoughts and desires, and thoughts and desires form all political aspirations.”
“I—I, uh, disagree,” I stammered stupidly. Sweat was collecting in my armpits and running down my back now, and my head was spinning. I am dreaming. I am still at home in my bed – alone – having a nerve-induced nightmare about tomorrow, which is the day I am leaving for MIG9. This can’t be happening. I can’t be becoming the centerpiece of a gay alien gangbang.
“You have preened for us,” one of the nine said, his voice slightly accusatory. He gestured at my torso. “You have shown us your softness.”
“My what?” I asked, looking down on myself.
Refrain from shedding the carapace.
I had unbuttoned my jacket. Shown them my softness.
“Uh, no, no. Oh, no, you’re misunderstanding,” I hurried to explain. “This—I am wearing a jacket, a vest and a shirt. This is not-" I gestured at my vest-and-shirt-clad torso, then panicked when the humming swelled in my audience. "No, look, this is my skin.” I hastily rolled up my left sleeve to my elbow, ripping the cuff link off in the process and sending it flying onto the floor – whatever – and showed my arm around. It was hairless and smooth on the inside, with just a few veins beneath the skin. The outside was lightly dusted with hair and darker in color. “Totally different from my clothes. Look, just because I unbuttoned the jacket just now doesn’t mean-“
The Syn’s humming hiss cut off my words.
One of them reached for my arm with his own hand – one with too few fingers and a strangely shaped palm, attached to a limb that was much longer than it seemed – and latched on to it just below my wrist.
His touch was like that of a jellyfish almost, wet and squishy. I stood rooted to the floor, my whole body pricked with sweat. Oh God, oh God.
The alien’s humming crested again and became a little symphony.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the alien who was holding on to me said, and then lowered his mouth to the soft inside of my arm and licked it.
I heard a new humming. It took me a while to find that the source of it was me this time.
That tongue was soft and wonderful and coated with some sort of saliva that tickled every single nerve ending in my skin, sending shivers from my arm to my neck, down along my spine and around to the tip of my cock, as well as up into my brain where they exploded into fireworks. The Syn had no lips to speak of, but little teeth that nipped on me ever so gently.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the silvery one with the large, ribbed member said and took my other arm, lifting my hand and sucking my middle finger into his mouth. It was like sinking my digit into a pussy that was rippling with orgasms. Oh fuck, that would feel like heaven on my cock. I couldn’t help but thrust a little with my finger, and the silver Syn pressed his erection into my hip to rub himself on me in the same rhythm.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the deep-voiced Syn said and came up close to me until his front was lined up with my back, and lowered his head to nuzzle against the side of my neck.
"Oh. Oh, shit," I whispered as my eyes crossed with the sensation.
I was a goner, then, and glad to have such a giant alien behind me. I could lean against him safely and not fall on my ass even when my knees wobbled.
The other Syn all repeated their little sentence and stepped closer to me, grabbing or latching on to a body part – my fingers, my hand, my shoulder, my ear, my left calf, my right thigh, the side of my hip – gradually undressing me and vanishing my clothes with forceful purpose until I stood naked between them, swaying on my bare feet, bathed in sweat and the intoxicating excretions from alien skin and alien mouths, seeing barely anything but blurring colors and alien faces any more, breathing hard through a mouth that kept babbling nonsense as all those touches overloaded my brain.
“Please,” I heard myself say when something touched the swell of my buttocks and pulled them apart. “Please. I’ve never… I’m a virgin there.”
“Hush, James Graham,” the deep-voiced Syn said, and then a tongue - at least it felt like a tongue - penetrated my untouched ring and writhed around there. My body shuddered and I moaned mindlessly.
Then, another tongue, or finger, or appendage, breached my sphincter right beside the first tongue, and then another. I moaned and breathed to relax the muscle, to let them in deeper. I was stretched wider and wider before the invasion relented for a moment, allowed my anus to contract again, and then repeated the process.
“Please,” I pleaded. “My cock, please.”
No one seemed to hear. No one touched my cock even though it was unmissable, jutting out between my thighs, harder than it had ever been before in my life.
Then they found my prostate, started pumping in and out in a maddening rhythm and hit my spot with every thrust.
I groaned. “My cock. Oh God, my cock.”
Something warm and wet latched on to my balls and vibrated against them.
“Please!”
Something bit and sucked my nipples.
“Oh fuck, oh God, oh-“
Something nudged my taint.
My orgasm rolled over me like an avalanche. My eyes fell shut and my breath barreled out of me on a long, long curse.
I groaned like an a****l as my painfully rigid cock sprayed what felt like a whole pint of cum onto the floor, twitching wildly and finding not a single point of friction even though I pumped my hips desperately.
Only after my last drop was spilled, someone latched onto my dick and started sucking, causing me to cry out. “No! No, too much!” I bawled. I was too sensitive.
My captors didn’t care. My cock was sucked down a hot, slick sheath and gripped so tightly it almost hurt – and then something slithered into my urethra and stirred me from the inside. I screamed, then, and begged, and nothing made a difference to the aliens that held me in their grip.
The wriggling appendages pulled out of my asshole and were replaced with a bigger, harder one that seemed to fill my guts up to my navel with one slick movement. I groaned when it started to move inside of me, thrust into me, rammed itself into my insides, finding my prostate with every pass, causing my asshole to clench over the hard, ribbed flesh, and already I was ready to come again. I tried to get my hands onto my own cock to unlatch myself from whatever was sucking me too forcefully and violating my pee-hole, but I could not maneuver my arms through the press of bodies without someone catching my wrist and putting my fingers somewhere warm and wet and tight.
Behind me, the deep-voiced Syn bellowed, grabbed on to my throat from behind – I somehow knew it was his hand – and cut off my air for a long, long moment, waited until all my muscles clenched in fear from the asphyxiation, and then spilled within me. I could feel it, like an enema made of hot jelly. The feeling made me shiver with both revulsion and arousal.
Another Syn immediately took the deep-voiced one’s place behind me and fucked my well-stretched, well-filled hole, humming into my ear the whole time and reaching deeper and deeper into my guts with his elongating, curling and uncurling appendage. My cries were muffled by a mouth that covered mine. My tongue was sucked, my mouth was filled with something sticky and wriggling that ran down my throat, spilled onto my chin and dripped onto my chest.
And all the while, I wanted to cum so badly, but couldn’t. My urethra was stuffed full and the underside of my glans was either ignored or overstimulated. I howled and pleaded but none of the nine took notice, or maybe they just did not understand my gibberish.
They used my body for what must have been hours, until sticky liquids ran down the insides of my thighs and dripped onto my feet and the floor. Every crevice and square inch was touched and fondled, caressed and bitten, nipped and sucked, sipped and licked.
I was already deep in a trance when they finally released me from the press of their hot, demanding bodies. I barely took notice of someone bedding me almost gently while someone else did something to my still semi-hard cock.
I must have slept for a whole day. I woke up parched and starving and practically inhaled the food and water my babysitter – the one female Syn on this vessel?... next to me, that is, I shuddered to think – handed to me. She disappeared before my mouth was sufficiently empty to ask her what had happened and what I was supposed to do now.
As I tried to get out of bed I noticed a strange contraption adorning my penis. It looked like a codpiece made of a rubbery material and covered my entire cock from tip to root, only leaving a little hole in the front. I could not remove it, nor could I touch myself through it at all.
There was no trace of my clothes, no towels, no bed sheets that could be taken off and used as a makeshift covering, so I had no choice but to head out into the station with my hands cupped around my genitals for modesty, searching for a Syn to explain things to me.
My whole body twinged and trembled with every step. I was sore, inside and out. My lips felt puffy and swollen, just like my sphincter. My nipples were almost painfully tight, rosy points. My balls were heavy and seemed to pulse with every brush against each other and against the insides of my thighs.
I finally found my – Co-senators? Colleagues? Captors? Violators? – in a type of meeting room that stretched around the entire side of the station, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of space, the moon and Earth above and below and beside us.
“James Graham,” the silver one said as he spotted me. As one, nine pairs (or sets) of eyes fixed on me. Nine lions, and me, the antelope with nowhere to go. Or rather, the one lioness that was ‘showing them her softness’ again.
“Come,” the deep-voiced one said and came towards me. I shuddered when I spied his erection again – that thing had been inside me. Good Lord, it was gigantic. My asshole puckered.
“No,” I said, struggling to take a step back instead, and lifting my hands for a moment before clamping them down on my rubber-encased tool again. “Wait. You have to explain some things first. What- What happened, uh, yesterday? What did you do to me? And what is this? How do I take it off?” I demonstratively looked down on myself and held my cock in my cupped hands.
Deep-voice – I would need to learn their names, or give them names if they didn’t have any – made a sound that I identified as a chuckle. He was laughing at me, even though it didn’t show in his face at all.
“You are a life-keeper. Until you transform, you will not need the life-giving parts of your anatomy. It is wasteful.”
My eyes bugged out. “What? I—Humans don’t ‘transform’. You can’t just-”
Deep-voice made that sound again and reached for my upper arm, rather unceremoniously pulled me to him and suddenly slid a finger between my cheeks. The spongy pad of it brushed over my anus.
I stiffened, whimpered and cursed. That felt way too good.
“Do not worry, James Graham,” deep-voice rumbled into my ear and sank one finger into me. It was like I was self-lubricating there now, and my prostate sent zings of pleasure through me that were about three times stronger than they had been yesterday. Again I was thankful for the big Syn’s proximity, and for his hard hand around my arm that didn’t let me faceplant onto the floor. “It has already begun.”
The other Syn gathered around ever so slowly, shedding their clothes if they had any, unfurling their strangely-shaped genitals from where they were tucked into their bodies.
My cock hurt ever so slightly in its rubber prison.
Yes, it had indeed begun.
TBC (? I mean, I can totally write more of this if anyone wants to read it…)
Leave a comment if you want to make me a happy writer.
Tags: sci-fi, gay, three-piece suit, aliens, gang bang, anal, oral, urethra insertion, tentacles, orgasm denial, cock cage, body transformation
We Come In Peace
“Senator Graham! Senator Graham, I’m Mary Collins for USDA News. Would you comment on your new appointment to the MIG9? Has there been an official Syn response already?”
I only smiled at Miss Collins and gave a nod at the cameras, thanked everyone for their interest, and slipped into the backseat of my car. The door slid shut almost soundlessly once I was seated, cutting off the noisy reporters and the whirr of the camera equipment. The seat molded perfectly to my thighs, backside and back, and security belts gently clamped down on me. I laid my head against the headrest, breathed in the new-vehicle-smell and enjoyed the comfort of the supple leather, and breathed out the stress
“Good afternoon, Mr Graham,” Gina’s mellow voice filled the car’s interior. “Would you like me to drive you somewhere? Or are you just enjoying the privacy and comfort of this vehicle today?”
“Take me home first, and then on to Washington D.C. spaceport, please and thank you, Gina,” I said. I didn’t care that my contemporaries laughed at me and compared me to their great-grandparents who typed ‘would you please find me some raspberry pie recipies my dear?’ into the google search bar. I would always be polite to AIs. Politeness should never be switched off, no matter the addressee.
“With pleasure, Mr Graham.” Gina – whose full name was Jiqi Zhineng (literally meaning “artificial intelligence”) which started with a “gi”-sound and ended roughly on a “na”-sound – started the car and reversed because there were still too many reporters in front of us. “The fastest route will take us twenty-three minutes under the current traffic conditions. Or would you prefer an alternative route today?”
“No, thank you. Twenty-three minutes is perfectly fine. Take me there directly.”
“Very well. Would you like to make use of the entertainment system to pass the time?”
I thought for a second. “We can continue our game of chess, if you like?”
“Of course!” Gina slid one robotic arm out of the door pocket. A semi-holographic chessboard with black and white pieces s**ttered on it flickered into view. “Your move, Mr Graham.”
We played for a bit. Gina was programmed to keep small talk to a very natural minimum, but she still spoke up while she calculated her next moves. “By the way, congratulations to your appointment to the Convocation, Mr Graham.”
“Thank you, Gina,” I said and inhaled deeply. “It was a close call. President Simmons is not my fan, or a fan of the Syn, or a fan of anything that resembles diplomacy.”
“You have worked very hard for this, and you deserve it,” Gina said. Her praise felt really good, which was slightly embarrassing. Man, I was a social-life loner. “The following trip to the Washington spaceport will be your departure for MIG9, then?”
“Correct,” I nodded. “I’m going home to pack my bags, and then I’m going to go up there.”
“Very well,” Gina replied and finally made her move.
‘Up there’ was MIG9, the space station the Syn had used to make contact with Earth roughly ten years ago. Since then, we had sent our own modules to dock onto the station, first to send goods and mediums for better communication, then to send scientists and technicians.
Now, we would send… me, James Graham, 35, from Baltimore, Maryland. I had just been voted to become the first official member of the interstellar senate that convened at the station MIG9. In only four days, I would be joining the Convocation of the Nine – which would have to be renamed into the Convocation of Ten if they accepted me – and represent the interests of homo sapiens against and alongside of those of the Syn.
I didn’t know what was coming, not really. I had only ever seen the extraterrestrials on television and read about them in the aforementioned scientist’s academic papers. I had, of course, studied everything on interstellar politics that we and the Syn had compiled in the meantime, but there was just not a lot of it to be read yet.
“’Very well’, indeed,” I mumbled and tried not to think too much about how I was diving headfirst into a black hole just to see what would happen.
At the spaceport, there was some preparation to be made, I got a very short crash course on space travel safety, my luggage was managed, and then I was shot into the atmosphere. The journey itself took 15 hours, which I snoozed away under the influence of some sedating chemical in the capsule’s air supply, and ended with a gentle hiss of my air lock.
My capsule had docked onto the MIG9.
After that, my life took a real turn.
***
“Representatives of the tribes, welcome.”
The voice of the Syn’s speaker carried through the fibrous curtain that shielded me from view of the auditorium. The aliens – I wasn’t supposed to think of them as such, being politically correct, but that’s what they were to me – had a circus-like set-up of their senate, with eight listeners standing or sitting in a circle around a relatively large open space that functioned as a stage and was the only spot in which anyone was allowed to say more than ‘yes’ or ‘no’ or direct short questions at the speaker. That’s what my babysitter had taught me yesterday.
My babysitter was a young Syn – or at least she seemed and looked very young with her smooth-skinned kindchenschema face – who had not given me a name to address her by. I wasn’t even sure she was female.
She had answered most all of my questions, provided me with food and a chamber with an en-suite washing cubicle, and, with a slightly nervous hush that I didn’t understand, told me to “please refrain from shedding the carapace in the vicinity of the senate”. The translation of her words from my earpiece had confused me so much that I didn’t think to ask what she meant by that.
As I stood and listened to the alien noises that presumably constituted thank-yous, welcomes and other acknowledgements, I fumbled with my tie and straightened my jacket again. My carapace, indeed. I was wearing my dark gray pinstripe suit, which flattered my swimmer’s body tastefully and yet exuded professionalism. When you went to meet a couple of aliens, you damn well put on your Sunday best.
“At this hour, we will admit to this convocation a new representative. James Graham comes from planet Earth and will hold as much authority as either of us over decisions relating to the species homo sapiens or the planet Earth. Please enter, James Graham.”
Trying not to feel like a criminal coming before a jury, I stepped through the curtain and out into the round space.
Immediately, I saw the advantage of this set-up. Whosever stood in the middle might have been the only one with the right to speak, but he was also on a silver platter and scrutinized from all directions.
Looking around me, I stupidly wished for a stool to stand on. Even the smallest one of my onlookers was head and shoulders above me even though I was a good 6 foot 3.
The aliens looked like something out of all Guillermo del Toro movies, but also different, each one very distinct and unique. For the most part, they had two front-facing eyes – and that was where the similarities ended.
“Senators, I am honored to stand among you and want to thank each of you for the invitation,” I addressed them in turn, dropping most of the faux-friendly rhetoric I had learnt in American politics in favor of straight-forward honesty. For some reason I thought they might be able to smell lies anyway and didn’t have time or patience for hollow pleasantries. “The world, that is, my people, have appointed me as an intermediary between you and them. I am prepared to serve as such and leave it at that. With your permission, I can also weigh in on human-related subjects in the future. Thank you.”
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you, James Graham,” one of the aliens to my right spoke up, and I turned to him. He reminded me of a stereotypical alien of early sci-fi, with his shimmery gray skin and large, black eyes that had neither pupils nor irises. He had two large arms that ended in hands with uneven numbers of fingers, two legs that seemed to bend into the other direction, a rippling torso that had no hair or nipples, and a very large, curved-
Oh. I lifted my gaze up and away. Was that his default state or was he just happy to see me? I suppressed a nervous chuckle and cleared my throat instead.
“James Graham, tell us. What is your knowledge of the Syn?”
I turned to the other senator who had posed the question – a slightly shorter one in a richly colored robe that seemed to be made of the same material as the curtain I had previously lingered behind, with three blue eyes whose eyelids blinked independently from one another – and launched into a short, prepared summary. In all, I had to concede, humans knew only the basics about our visitors, their lives, their home, their societal structures, their customs and practice. The Syn weren’t exactly forward with information, preferring instead to hover above our little blue planet and, presumably, watch us.
During the talk, I gestured a little and ended up opening the one button that held my jacket closed to increase my freedom of movement. Also, it was a little too warm in here for all three layers I was wearing.
“James Graham,” yet another alien addressed me once I was done with my meager lecture, “there are species of fish in your planet’s oceans that are curiously similar to the Syn, in that they are born in the life-keeping state and, as they age, undergo a transformation to the life-giving state.”
Blinking, I tapped the translator device behind my ear. “I am afraid I don’t understand.” Neither the translation nor the mention of it made much sense within the context of my Syn-101 lecture.
“There is no need to be afraid, James Graham,” the fourth Syn to address me said. He looked a lot like the amphibian man from ‘The Shape of Water’, except with more… frills.
“Uh, but-“ I trailed off. I could feel the mood in the room change, but I didn’t know why it was happening.
“Will your species send more life-keepers to the Syn?” the first speaker asked me.
“That largely, uh, depends on the outcome of my tenure,” I said, deciding to ignore the whole life-keeper/life-giver thing for now. “If my people – and you – are satisfied with the gains of information and transparency that my being here brings, we can absolutely negotiate for more frequent exchanges.”
All nine listeners suddenly started hissing and humming, as if I had either said something horribly offensive, or something wonderful, I couldn’t tell.
“The Syn strongly advocate the presence of more life-keepers,” another Syn said, and the humming slowly ebbed.
Alright, enough.
“Forgive my ignorance, but what exactly, is a life-keeper?” I addressed the entire audience, hoping I wasn’t committing an affront by reversing the speaking roles while standing in the circle, and grimly determined to not feel ashamed for my ignorance.
“Like the fish in your planet’s waters, we have two phases in life,” the gray-skinned Syn said. I really tried not to notice how his, uh, horn twitched, but it was quite conspicuous. Large. Curved. Ribbed. “One in which the seed is given to us for safekeeping and incubation, and one in which we give it.”
“All of the Syn present are in the latter phase of our lives,” frilly amphibious man added.
“Wait,” I mumbled. Incubation. This sounded like it had something to do with sex. “You… You mean your species undergoes a sex change? From… female to male?”
“Those are rudimentary terms that do not sufficiently describe the reality of our biology,” a Syn behind me said and I couldn’t help but whirl around. He had the deepest voice I had ever heard. It made my belly tingle like a very loud sub-woofer bass and the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.
“I see,” I said, even though I only vaguely understood. “So… Pardon my asking, but why is it important that…”
I fell silent. The deep-voiced Syn’s body was changing before my eyes, morphing, like a clay animation figurine, into something that strongly resembled a human male. A very, very cut, very large and naked human male.
With a proportionally huge cock.
Which was quickly becoming erect.
“James Graham. We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” one of the other Syn said, but I couldn’t take my eyes off the transformation before me. The room was suddenly ten degrees warmer and thirty percent more humid than before. Something electric sizzled between me and the deep-voiced, well-endowed, aroused alien.
“Wait, wait now. There seems to be a misunderstanding,” I started and fumbled with the knot of my tie again which seemed too tight suddenly.
The Syn all hummed and hissed again.
“This appointment of mine is exclusively a political one. There was never, uh- No one ever said anything about… corporeal involvement.” My voice was rising as my imagination ran wild.
The silvery Syn stepped off his little platform and into the ring. All the other Syn followed as if on cue.
“The differentiation between political and corporeal is non-existent for the Syn,” one of them informed me. “The body is the birthplace of all thoughts and desires, and thoughts and desires form all political aspirations.”
“I—I, uh, disagree,” I stammered stupidly. Sweat was collecting in my armpits and running down my back now, and my head was spinning. I am dreaming. I am still at home in my bed – alone – having a nerve-induced nightmare about tomorrow, which is the day I am leaving for MIG9. This can’t be happening. I can’t be becoming the centerpiece of a gay alien gangbang.
“You have preened for us,” one of the nine said, his voice slightly accusatory. He gestured at my torso. “You have shown us your softness.”
“My what?” I asked, looking down on myself.
Refrain from shedding the carapace.
I had unbuttoned my jacket. Shown them my softness.
“Uh, no, no. Oh, no, you’re misunderstanding,” I hurried to explain. “This—I am wearing a jacket, a vest and a shirt. This is not-" I gestured at my vest-and-shirt-clad torso, then panicked when the humming swelled in my audience. "No, look, this is my skin.” I hastily rolled up my left sleeve to my elbow, ripping the cuff link off in the process and sending it flying onto the floor – whatever – and showed my arm around. It was hairless and smooth on the inside, with just a few veins beneath the skin. The outside was lightly dusted with hair and darker in color. “Totally different from my clothes. Look, just because I unbuttoned the jacket just now doesn’t mean-“
The Syn’s humming hiss cut off my words.
One of them reached for my arm with his own hand – one with too few fingers and a strangely shaped palm, attached to a limb that was much longer than it seemed – and latched on to it just below my wrist.
His touch was like that of a jellyfish almost, wet and squishy. I stood rooted to the floor, my whole body pricked with sweat. Oh God, oh God.
The alien’s humming crested again and became a little symphony.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the alien who was holding on to me said, and then lowered his mouth to the soft inside of my arm and licked it.
I heard a new humming. It took me a while to find that the source of it was me this time.
That tongue was soft and wonderful and coated with some sort of saliva that tickled every single nerve ending in my skin, sending shivers from my arm to my neck, down along my spine and around to the tip of my cock, as well as up into my brain where they exploded into fireworks. The Syn had no lips to speak of, but little teeth that nipped on me ever so gently.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the silvery one with the large, ribbed member said and took my other arm, lifting my hand and sucking my middle finger into his mouth. It was like sinking my digit into a pussy that was rippling with orgasms. Oh fuck, that would feel like heaven on my cock. I couldn’t help but thrust a little with my finger, and the silver Syn pressed his erection into my hip to rub himself on me in the same rhythm.
“We, the Syn, thank your species and you,” the deep-voiced Syn said and came up close to me until his front was lined up with my back, and lowered his head to nuzzle against the side of my neck.
"Oh. Oh, shit," I whispered as my eyes crossed with the sensation.
I was a goner, then, and glad to have such a giant alien behind me. I could lean against him safely and not fall on my ass even when my knees wobbled.
The other Syn all repeated their little sentence and stepped closer to me, grabbing or latching on to a body part – my fingers, my hand, my shoulder, my ear, my left calf, my right thigh, the side of my hip – gradually undressing me and vanishing my clothes with forceful purpose until I stood naked between them, swaying on my bare feet, bathed in sweat and the intoxicating excretions from alien skin and alien mouths, seeing barely anything but blurring colors and alien faces any more, breathing hard through a mouth that kept babbling nonsense as all those touches overloaded my brain.
“Please,” I heard myself say when something touched the swell of my buttocks and pulled them apart. “Please. I’ve never… I’m a virgin there.”
“Hush, James Graham,” the deep-voiced Syn said, and then a tongue - at least it felt like a tongue - penetrated my untouched ring and writhed around there. My body shuddered and I moaned mindlessly.
Then, another tongue, or finger, or appendage, breached my sphincter right beside the first tongue, and then another. I moaned and breathed to relax the muscle, to let them in deeper. I was stretched wider and wider before the invasion relented for a moment, allowed my anus to contract again, and then repeated the process.
“Please,” I pleaded. “My cock, please.”
No one seemed to hear. No one touched my cock even though it was unmissable, jutting out between my thighs, harder than it had ever been before in my life.
Then they found my prostate, started pumping in and out in a maddening rhythm and hit my spot with every thrust.
I groaned. “My cock. Oh God, my cock.”
Something warm and wet latched on to my balls and vibrated against them.
“Please!”
Something bit and sucked my nipples.
“Oh fuck, oh God, oh-“
Something nudged my taint.
My orgasm rolled over me like an avalanche. My eyes fell shut and my breath barreled out of me on a long, long curse.
I groaned like an a****l as my painfully rigid cock sprayed what felt like a whole pint of cum onto the floor, twitching wildly and finding not a single point of friction even though I pumped my hips desperately.
Only after my last drop was spilled, someone latched onto my dick and started sucking, causing me to cry out. “No! No, too much!” I bawled. I was too sensitive.
My captors didn’t care. My cock was sucked down a hot, slick sheath and gripped so tightly it almost hurt – and then something slithered into my urethra and stirred me from the inside. I screamed, then, and begged, and nothing made a difference to the aliens that held me in their grip.
The wriggling appendages pulled out of my asshole and were replaced with a bigger, harder one that seemed to fill my guts up to my navel with one slick movement. I groaned when it started to move inside of me, thrust into me, rammed itself into my insides, finding my prostate with every pass, causing my asshole to clench over the hard, ribbed flesh, and already I was ready to come again. I tried to get my hands onto my own cock to unlatch myself from whatever was sucking me too forcefully and violating my pee-hole, but I could not maneuver my arms through the press of bodies without someone catching my wrist and putting my fingers somewhere warm and wet and tight.
Behind me, the deep-voiced Syn bellowed, grabbed on to my throat from behind – I somehow knew it was his hand – and cut off my air for a long, long moment, waited until all my muscles clenched in fear from the asphyxiation, and then spilled within me. I could feel it, like an enema made of hot jelly. The feeling made me shiver with both revulsion and arousal.
Another Syn immediately took the deep-voiced one’s place behind me and fucked my well-stretched, well-filled hole, humming into my ear the whole time and reaching deeper and deeper into my guts with his elongating, curling and uncurling appendage. My cries were muffled by a mouth that covered mine. My tongue was sucked, my mouth was filled with something sticky and wriggling that ran down my throat, spilled onto my chin and dripped onto my chest.
And all the while, I wanted to cum so badly, but couldn’t. My urethra was stuffed full and the underside of my glans was either ignored or overstimulated. I howled and pleaded but none of the nine took notice, or maybe they just did not understand my gibberish.
They used my body for what must have been hours, until sticky liquids ran down the insides of my thighs and dripped onto my feet and the floor. Every crevice and square inch was touched and fondled, caressed and bitten, nipped and sucked, sipped and licked.
I was already deep in a trance when they finally released me from the press of their hot, demanding bodies. I barely took notice of someone bedding me almost gently while someone else did something to my still semi-hard cock.
I must have slept for a whole day. I woke up parched and starving and practically inhaled the food and water my babysitter – the one female Syn on this vessel?... next to me, that is, I shuddered to think – handed to me. She disappeared before my mouth was sufficiently empty to ask her what had happened and what I was supposed to do now.
As I tried to get out of bed I noticed a strange contraption adorning my penis. It looked like a codpiece made of a rubbery material and covered my entire cock from tip to root, only leaving a little hole in the front. I could not remove it, nor could I touch myself through it at all.
There was no trace of my clothes, no towels, no bed sheets that could be taken off and used as a makeshift covering, so I had no choice but to head out into the station with my hands cupped around my genitals for modesty, searching for a Syn to explain things to me.
My whole body twinged and trembled with every step. I was sore, inside and out. My lips felt puffy and swollen, just like my sphincter. My nipples were almost painfully tight, rosy points. My balls were heavy and seemed to pulse with every brush against each other and against the insides of my thighs.
I finally found my – Co-senators? Colleagues? Captors? Violators? – in a type of meeting room that stretched around the entire side of the station, offering a breathtaking panoramic view of space, the moon and Earth above and below and beside us.
“James Graham,” the silver one said as he spotted me. As one, nine pairs (or sets) of eyes fixed on me. Nine lions, and me, the antelope with nowhere to go. Or rather, the one lioness that was ‘showing them her softness’ again.
“Come,” the deep-voiced one said and came towards me. I shuddered when I spied his erection again – that thing had been inside me. Good Lord, it was gigantic. My asshole puckered.
“No,” I said, struggling to take a step back instead, and lifting my hands for a moment before clamping them down on my rubber-encased tool again. “Wait. You have to explain some things first. What- What happened, uh, yesterday? What did you do to me? And what is this? How do I take it off?” I demonstratively looked down on myself and held my cock in my cupped hands.
Deep-voice – I would need to learn their names, or give them names if they didn’t have any – made a sound that I identified as a chuckle. He was laughing at me, even though it didn’t show in his face at all.
“You are a life-keeper. Until you transform, you will not need the life-giving parts of your anatomy. It is wasteful.”
My eyes bugged out. “What? I—Humans don’t ‘transform’. You can’t just-”
Deep-voice made that sound again and reached for my upper arm, rather unceremoniously pulled me to him and suddenly slid a finger between my cheeks. The spongy pad of it brushed over my anus.
I stiffened, whimpered and cursed. That felt way too good.
“Do not worry, James Graham,” deep-voice rumbled into my ear and sank one finger into me. It was like I was self-lubricating there now, and my prostate sent zings of pleasure through me that were about three times stronger than they had been yesterday. Again I was thankful for the big Syn’s proximity, and for his hard hand around my arm that didn’t let me faceplant onto the floor. “It has already begun.”
The other Syn gathered around ever so slowly, shedding their clothes if they had any, unfurling their strangely-shaped genitals from where they were tucked into their bodies.
My cock hurt ever so slightly in its rubber prison.
Yes, it had indeed begun.
TBC (? I mean, I can totally write more of this if anyone wants to read it…)
Leave a comment if you want to make me a happy writer.
Cayleigh
- 08.11.2021
- 17
- 0
